


Diamonds and Rust

by Lillies_roses



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 08:09:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20653952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillies_roses/pseuds/Lillies_roses
Summary: Years have passed since the events of summer '19, and Harry Thompson's death.An ailing James receives an unexpected visitor.





	Diamonds and Rust

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Joan Baez song Diamonds and Rust; the most beautiful bittersweet song about memory and lost love. The first few lines: "Well, I'll be damned // Here comes your ghost again // But that's not unusual // It's just that the moon is full // And you happened to call." Sublime.

The darkness waned outside, an orange glow on the horizon casting pink shadows across the sky. The window was slightly ajar, and the early morning breeze brought goosebumps to the surface of James’ thin arms. The air smelt of autumn. James breathed it in, his mind drifting to the very same change of season many years ago. Afternoons spent in bed, the window thrown open to temper the heat of skin against sweaty skin. Hushed conversations and quiet ‘I love you’s, walking close but never too close, fallen leaves crunching underfoot. That heady mix - love and sex, intimacy and secrecy - that always came back to him this time of year, a Pavlovian response impossibly strong.

James tried to sit up in bed. He could hear the stirrings of a sparrow beginning its morning song outside, meeting the day with unearned cheer. Every part of his body ached. The effort it took to sit up was felt in every inch, each cell betraying him with its fragility. He closed his eyes, ready to surrender once more to the fatigue that now ruled his days. But as he lay back down, an uncanny feeling settled over him. Had he dozed off for a moment? He hadn’t heard the door open, but he could swear that there was someone in the room with him. It was too early for the nurse to come by, unless he had accidentally knocked the call button with his elbow. Slowly _ ,  _ defensive against the soft dawn light that still stung his eyes, James opened them and looked up.

_ _ He had been right. There was someone there, leaning against the door with hands in jeans pockets and a face that was young and bright and so very beautiful. A face he knew by heart, though he hadn’t seen it in almost two decades.

Harry’s face.

James shut his eyes tightly for a moment, pressing his thumbs deep into the thin lids before opening them again. Harry stood before him, yellow button up and a grin that made him glow. “Hey.” He whispered softly.

Except he didn’t. Couldn’t. Because Harry was dead, he’d been dead for years. James had buried him, carried his coffin on his shoulder and watched as it was lowered into the earth.

“You’re not here.” James felt foolish even speaking the words out loud. Had the doctors changed his medication without informing him? “You’re dead.”

_ _ Harry’s face crinkled as his smile widened, and he held his hands out flat in front of him. “Well, I feel pretty good for it.” He laughed, his blue eyes twinkling in the morning light.

James watched cautiously as Harry moved further into the small room. He ran his hand nervously over his head, the short hairs coarse under his finger tips. Even before treatment, it had begun to whiten and thin. Wrinkles had carved their way across his face, and months of illness had left his body frail. He felt far older than his years. He hated for Harry to see him like this, tucked into bed barely distinguishable from the thin white sheets that lay above him. Harry hadn’t aged a day.

James shook his head. Of course Harry hadn’t aged a day, because Harry was clearly a memory that his exhausted mind had conjured up. It wouldn’t be the first time. James tried to concentrate on the tangible aspects of his room, the cold air blowing in through the window and the solid bed beneath him. Harry meanwhile simply leaned against the wall, wearing a small smirk. He looked at James, but didn’t say a word.

“I’m not talking to you.” said James after a long pause.

“Why not?”

“I try to make it a point not to talk to figments of my own imagination. If you’re not a side effect of my medication, then it’ll probably be… what? An undigested bit of beef? A crumb of cheese?”

“More of gravy than of grave?” Harry finished for him, amusement and pride brightening his face at James’ disbelieving look. “I’ve read Dickens. Stop trying to be clever.”

“I’m not  _ trying  _ to be anything.” James shot back sharply, though he couldn’t help a thrill rising within him. Figment or not, this Harry could clearly hold his own against James. He had always been one of the only people who could.

“Ah, of course, that famous Nightingale modesty. Almost forgot about that.” Harry said, giving James a look of real fondness. He walked towards the window then, and the light breeze ruffled his fringe as he leant over the small chest beneath it. He looked down at the row of photographs arranged there.

Ellie with a white dress and a dazzling smile standing at the end of a wide aisle, arms linked with James on one side and Alfie on the other. Marnie, hair completely silver, holding her tiny granddaughter up to her, identical noses touching lightly together. Romeo sitting on a huge rock somewhere implausibly green, his arm thrown around a blond woman, three boys draping themselves upon their parents. Alfie in black robes and a mortarboard; Juliet grinning in a hammock on a beach somewhere exotic; All of them dressed in smart clothes at a wedding or a christening, laughing at something said out of shot. James saw Harry lift his hand and gently stroke the glass of the final photo. “Wow,” He breathed, “How are they all?”

“They’re fine, they’re doing well.” Said James, “Mother is getting on now, but she’s still got her…  _ spark _ . Apparently she’s rather giving her carers the runaround daily.”

Harry chuckled. “Never could keep Marnie down, eh?”

“No, you certainly couldn’t.” James looked down at his thin, pale hands, “I’m the only one who’s...” He looked up again and gave Harry a tight-lipped smile, then shook his head. Harry moved towards the bed, perching lightly on the side. He placed both of his hands over James’, and James started at how solid they were, how warm.  _ Could  _ he really be here?

_ _ “I’m sorry you…” Harry began, but James immediately interrupted him.

“Let’s not do this.” He said firmly. Harry nodded, and glanced back to the photographs.

“It’s so weird to see them all. You forget that life goes on after…” He paused, and his mind seemed to wander for a moment. Then he continued, “Do… do you know what happened to Isaac? How he is?”

James’ mouth went dry as he looked into Harry’s eyes.  _ _ “He’s alright, I think.” James began, slowly. “He stays with your dad in the village sometimes. I believe he just started university, actually. I… I see him sometimes.” James was unsure what else to say. He had never actually spoken to Isaac, had taken no steps to be a part of his life. When Isaac had been young it was easier to disconnect him from Harry, and from James’ own memories of him. What had this child to do with any of that? But now if James caught sight of the boy sloping around the village, his heart ended up in his throat and his stomach somewhere around his feet. He was exactly the same age that Harry had been when they first met. “He has blue eyes.” James finally added softly. “Blond hair and blue eyes.” He’d always imagined people asking Sadie where they had come from.

At hearing this, Harry eye’s filled rapidly with tears. James couldn’t help but recall all the times he’d seen those tearful eyes before, and that familiar feeling, that he would do anything to stop them falling, returned to him.

“He’s happy?” 

“I think he is,” said James, “I think he is.”

“And you?” Harry asked carefully.

“What about me?”

“Were you happy? You know, other than being here?” He motioned vaguely around the small room.

“Happy enough.” James said tersely, uncomfortable with the direction in which the conversation was moving.

“And did someone… was there somebody who made you happy?”

James straightened his back as much as he could in his position in bed, eyes avoiding the man now sitting so close. “No.” He said finally, more quietly than he had intended. “No, I think in that respect I was a lost cause long ago. Since I first laid eyes on you, I'd wager.”

“Yeah, me too.” Harry’s grip on his hand tightened infinitesimally, his eyes still shining with as yet unshed tears. “After everything we went through, it could only be you.”

“Until I ruined it.”

“You didn’t. It got ruined, it wasn’t you.” 

“It was. It was all my fault.” James inhaled sharply, fighting to hold back his own tears as he spoke the words he had held inside for years, words he had never had the courage to speak until now. For who else could he have admitted it to? “I killed you.” He whispered.

“No!” Harry clutched at James’ hand ever more tightly, but James still couldn’t bring himself to look up. “Don’t think that! Who could have known what would happen? We couldn’t have known.” Harry faltered, and took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, more controlled. “Me and you… it was always messed up. But it was  _ everything _ .”

Harry removed his hands from James’, cautiously lifting them to rest on his hollow cheeks. He brushed his fingers down them twice, before wrapping his arms around James and pulling his whole body close. James’ arms responded in kind, gripping the back of Harry’s shirt.

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

“I know.” Harry’s voice was small against James’ neck, as he stroked the back of his head with gentle fingers. Tears finally broke free, forming rivulets that ran down James’ cheeks and into the soft fabric of Harry’s top. “We wasted so much time, James. I can’t bear it.”

James simply nodded against Harry’s shoulder, his eyes shut tight, unable to find his voice or any words to explain the regret that he felt, that he had  _ always  _ felt. 

“I love you.”

It was so quiet, James wasn’t sure that he had actually heard it. He drew back to look at Harry’s face.

“Still?” James whispered. 

“Always.”

“Me too... Me too.”

They stared at each other for a long time, until the silence between them began to overwhelm James. His gaze dropped again.

“You have to go back.” It was more a statement than a question. Harry nodded slowly, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Do we have some time?” Without waiting for an answer, James pulled back the sheet that lay over his knees. Carefully, Harry crawled under it, slipping his legs down beside James’ and hooking their feet together. His head easily found the familiar resting place, tucked against James’ chest. James inhaled deeply from the top of Harry’s head, stroked a hand along his spine and felt Harry tremble. God, this was what he had needed all along. How had he not known? He looked down into Harry’s wide eyes, boyish and bright, and kissed him.

They stayed there, entwined in the narrow bed, each watching the other’s face as the sun moved across the sky and morning broke in earnest. James had no real sense of time passing, but eventually Harry stretched his back and wriggled out of his arms. James smiled sadly, as Harry stood up. “So this is it then?” He murmured.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, and then added playfully, “C’mon, get up old man.” James’ brow furrowed in confusion as he looked up at Harry. Harry frowned back. “You’re coming with me.” He said matter of factly. Harry held out his hand to James with a reassuring smile. James hesitated for only a moment before he took it. 

“It’s okay.” Harry whispered, “It’ll be okay now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Someone had to do it, right? Been thinking about this since Tony’s ‘death’, and Angel Harry coming to get him. Of course it doesn’t make any sense anyway as Tony is NOT DEAD, but whatevs, Hollyoaks, you do you.


End file.
